Flecks of Sun

One Week Later

My grandfather’s friend Henk lived near Marseilles and on the second day in France we drove there to stay at Henk’s guest villa. I could love France. The territory was extensive and diverse. It reminded me of the expanse of Germany or Spain, there was always so much to see. But what Marseilles countryside reminded me of was Italy. The same sense of groves and orchards that dotted Tuscany, the laid-back atmosphere that could be found in Southern Italy, and the sweet idle nights of possibility that beckoned from the silence that harked back the adventures I had in Rome.
I had studied two years in Italy before returning for a few months to the United States and then moving to Asia on the premise of a fulfilling job. A job which was not fulfilling and shortening my hours as the months passed. I was on the look-out for a new job. I had a background in diplomacy but found myself deposited into sales or business jobs due to the limited positions of my field. Yet I could not thrive in the business world- as I lacked the education to advance. It was with that knowledge that I decided to look again for jobs in my field and what I could do.
I could love France- but it was a love story not to happen. My French was at best –intermediate. I also could not fully blend into the culture or country as well I should have been able to. I relished any opportunity to visit and I was a bit spoiled that I had my grandfather to show me around and ask as my interpreter when I could not make out what was being spoken. My grandfather has started his career in opening shops, first one, then two or three of diverse merchandise either food or beverages. It was not until he partnered with a network colleague and began opening pubs that his career boomed. It’s what had made his comfortable living today. He was not strung between wealthy and middle class; able to afford nicer things and last minute purchases but cautious of maintaining a normal livelihood. Most of his earnings went to travel or donating. He grew up poor so he was always first to lend a hand to misfortune.

Henk had greeted us with a big hug. His two sand-colored dogs dashed around our ankles and rolled on their bellies.
“Stop showing off,” Henk commanded them, offering to take my grandfather’s luggage.
The evening slipped into the usual conversation on business and the going ons of French politics. The days slipped by, much the same. I was on bed rest to heal my ankle while Henk and my grandfather slipped into town for art exhibitions or meetings with old friends. Each day passed more or less the same. On the eighth day in France, my grandfather had picked up my book that had fallen off my nightstand and discovered the slip of paper between the pages and tucked it into his pocket. Thus being so that the next morning, it was the first matter of the day to address.

“Em, do you have a potential job lead in Finland??” my grandfather asked with esteem.
The painkillers I had been taking made ever morning a bit groggy so that my mind took a few seconds to catch up with the world.
“A job lead?” I asked before he filled me in on his finding. His eyebrows were arched and there was a dash of hope in his eyes.
“No grandpa, no job lead. It was – “ I began before realizing I just invited him to ask me questions about Helsinki.
“You never told me how your ankle came to be broken exactly,” he pressed for further information.
We were close but I was not ready to delve into it for even my grandfather might find it strange. Upon my reluctance to open up, he instead switched topics.
“I need to return to Paris and home for meetings. Furthermore, I believe you only had about two weeks left of your vacation time. Do you wish to stay here with Henk and I can come down in a week or so and we can figure out you going back to Asia or do you wish to join me?”
I stared at him in a daze. I had spent eight days gaining weight off of French pastries, hot chocolate, and grapes. My ankle was more mobile but not without crutches and good care. I had been doing work from the laptop and contemplating my next move. I was not ready to return to Asia, I needed another week to rest up.
“I thought perhaps to visit Lis,” I said slowly.
“In Spain?”
“She’s in Granada now. I could fly there and stay at her place for a few more days and then return to Asia. I have the money,” I said as the plan came into notion. A week with my best friend, might be the best medicine.
“Okay, but check with her first,” he cautioned and returned to his newspaper.
“I’m sure it is fine,” I said.
“Em- about your ankle…”
“We can discuss at a later point. It’s a long story,” I said shutting down the conversation.
After breakfast I dialed Lis from the home phone of Henk and suggested my proposal.
“I would love for you to come visit me, but I am swamped with errands and work. Also I am not sure moving around place to place is conductive to your healing. I might be able to come visit you this weekend if you stay in France,” she gushed out in few pauses. I could tell already she was busy from how she spoke. Lis was teaching at various academies in Spain between Madrid and Granada that rotated every few weeks. I had a hard time keeping track of her schedule.
“It’s okay, I will stay at Henk’s a few more days and we can meet in Paris on the weekend if you are able to.”
“Great, I will keep you updated,” she rushed saying as children in the background hollered.
Before I could say good-bye the line clicked.
I found my grandfather in the garden, reading a book and updated him on my tentative plan. I then went to find Henk to see if it would be possible to stay a few more days. He was in the kitchen whipping up sandwiches and soup for lunch. Henk was retired and spent his days indulging in his hobbies.
“Henk.”
“Yes, m’dear,” he called from behind the opened fridge door.
“Could I stay until Saturday and then I will fly back to Paris?” I asked him.
“Sure, not a problem at all. I will be out of the house most of Wednesday and Thursday as I have some cooking classes those days,” he said as he layered Havarti cheese onto a roll.
I laughed. Henk thought he was becoming something of an expert in the world of cuisine but so far his creations were varied sandwiches, soups sprinkled with herbs, and vegetable and meat mixtures.
“Lunch is served,” he announced as he sprinkled the last bit of rosemary over a freshly baked bread.
“Great, I’m starving.”
The week flew. I started to use Henk’s small gym to do arm, chest exercises and small ankle stretching. I did work and reading to pass the time but I mostly stayed in bed with my ankle propped up so that it would heal properly. I had never broken a bone before and could not find the appeal in being bed bound. I was constantly restless and growing increasingly bored. Finally, Saturday arrived and Henk drove me to the airport. I found myself unexpectedly telling him everything during the two-hour drive. Perhaps because it had not been on my mind much and suddenly with the dawning of Lis arriving, I needed to get another opinion before Lis led me to believe something else entirely. She was honest, but the romantic in her liked to see everything as a Hollywood movie.
Henk listened quietly.
“Have you called?” he asked.
“No.”
“Have you wanted to?”
“Yes but there was nothing to say. Or I did not know what to say,” I muttered feeling stupid at this point.
“What is that infatuates you? Is it the fame or lifestyle?” Henk asked.
“I think we all wonder what living that life is like, but no that was not it. When we talk, it’s just banter and good conversation. It didn’t feel like we would not see each other again. It reminded me of someone who could be a friend or person you see once in a while who you know you can be happy around,” I explained putting my hand into my bag to feel for the paper with the number.
We had arrived at the airport.
“If you have a way to contact him, why not just go for it,” Henk said popping the trunk so I could retrieve my suitcase.
“I’m no good at that. I wouldn’t know what to say,” I said again lacking an excuse.
Henk pulled open his knapsack and retrieved something in paper.
“I’m no good at this culinary thing, but I’m trying because there’s passion for it and want. If you have the want to reach out and the means, it’s harmless to do so. Perhaps he’s even hoping you do, after all you have the number, not him.”
Henk handed me the paper which was a sandwich and smiled.
“Thanks for the sandwich and the advice,” I said with a chuckle.
Henk was right, I had not left Ville with any contact or forwarding information.

**
Mige scrolled through Facebook and LinkedIn.
He was on his own personal mission to find her. After Ville had been left empty-handed in his quest a day after the hotel scenario, Mige had taken it upon himself. Partly because he was frustrated. Ville was down for perhaps a day or so, but eventually stopped talking about it and on the outside it might appear as though it didn’t bother him, but it did. But Mige knew Ville was not going to chase after it. Firstly, because he was shy and secondly because though his friend had had an enjoyable time, it was not romantic-yet. Mige wasn’t even sure if Ville was interested romantically, it would not be the first time his friend’s eyes were before his brain. But what was different was the way he was disappointed. Ville usually got over someone in a few days unless it was a relationship, but even so, the vacant and yet pondering look that had stayed in his eyes did not diminish. Thus Mige felt prompted to do his own research. He wanted to know who this person was. His frustration only increased when every form of social media alluded to zero success.

“Does she work for the CIA?” he vented to Linde over the phone as he made his way to his kitchen to retrieve a beer.

“Perhaps she’s just not into social media. Ville is the same,” Linde responded.
“But there’s something about all of this that makes me want to find her. For peter’s soul she has not even called the number,” Mige said loudly as his foot kicked the fridge door closed. He was out of beer.
“Peter’s soul? Do you mean for pete’s sake?” Linde asked laughing.
“Yes, English proverbs are not my specialty,” Mige said with a laugh.
“It’s not a proverb…” Linde trailed off sensing Mige’s irritation.
They both were silent as Linde listened to Mige rattle around his house.
“Ville went to the hotel?” Linde asked.
“Yes and there was no to know where she was going,” Mige said before adding on that further questions about her whereabouts would have brought attention.
“Well instead of asking the where is she questions, why don’t you go back and ask she left any contact information, like an e-mail or phone number? You can just make up a story,” Linde suggested as Mige stopped moving around.
“That could be a brilliant idea. I am the expert of making up stories,” he laughed.

**
Propped up on huge billowing pillows and one glass of wine gone, Lis and I were sprawled out in the guest room of my grandfather’s house.
“Shall I open a second?” Lis giggled.
“Do you even have to ask?” I laughed back.
We were both definitely tipsy, having not drank in awhile and smoking adding to the “high” we felt.
Lis had arrived that afternoon, but we hadn’t met until the evening where we skipped a restaurant and opted for pizza indoors and wine. So far we had caught up on work, friends, and mundane things. Now with the wine flowing, Lis started to get to the heart of the matter.
“Tell me, tell me, tell me about this person in Helsinki,” she gushed as she poured herself some more alcohol.
I grabbed my Mac and googled his face, something I hadn’t done and turned my computer around so she could see.
“He’s gorgeous!” she gasped before scrolling through more photos. “Is he a model or something?” she asked confused saying his name. She had no idea who he was and so I filled her in.
“So he’s like semi-famous?” she asked laughing.
“Well famous yes, maybe not Justin Bieber famous, but he’s famous,” I said.
“Well,” Lis pushed knowing I was not just blushing for nothing.
“Well, I don’t know. We have fun together and he’s easy to converse with,” I explained.
“He’s easy on the eyes,” she whispered with a giggle.
“I’m not interested like that, I’m just curious,” I said.
“Hmmmm, just curious,” Lis laughed uproariously.
“I’m serious!”
“Okay, okay. Geez I know you’re not bad like me. Well start from the beginning,” she said.
I rehashed everything and she laughed at some points and was silent on others. “Do you still have the number?” she asked.
I showed her the paper and she turned it around.
“Call him!” she said.
“What now?” I asked in a panic.
“You’ve got liquid courage, “Lis insisted with a snort.
“No, I absolutely can not,” I insisted ripping the paper from her hand and folding it back into my agenda. The second bottle was half empty by now.
“What do you think of it or that he makes of it?” I asked her when we had a quiet moment.
“I think he wanted you to call, him reminding you to do so is a testament to that. Yes, it was if this or that about Finland but c’mon that’s obviously a cover. Maybe he’s not romantically inclined and that’s good. You can’t rush those things and besides that lifestyle is a headache to jump into. But you should have called just to say thanks again or exchanged e-mails, then you could have sent suggestions about travels to each other or asked how his piece for the article came out. Just call him tomorrow at least. It’s almost been two weeks, you’ll lose any window of opportunity or relevance, a window of relevance as more time passes.”
I leaned back and thought on her words. I had the liquid courage to call now but with Lis nearby and my face red, I would come off as very silly. I decided to give it a go in the morning.
“Let me see those pictures again!”

**
The phone was ringing.
Ville swallowed again out of nervousness as Mige glanced across the room from where he sat on the couch. True to his word, he had returned to the hotel and asked for the contact information using the truth. He had said how Ville had helped her because of an injury she sustained and upon learning that her vacation in Finland was cute short, the band really wanted to send her a small gesture. He somewhat lied, but his empathetic tale produced the e-mail and telephone number which Emile Macon had made the booking with. Linde was a genius on something so simple.
Sunday morning brought Mige to Ville’s door, contact information in hand. Ville proceeded to laugh and then settled on an e-mail.
“No you will call,” Mige urged. He has noticed the phone number was registered in Thailand, only adding to his theory that was a CIA operative.
Mige glanced across the room where Ville was pacing.
The phone continued to ring.
Finally, a groggy and tired voice answered.
“Hello?” a woman said.
“Emile?” Ville asked.
“No this is Lis,” the woman responded.
“Sorry to have called the wrong number so early,” he said into the phone, noticing it was 8:30.
“Tis okay,” the woman said before saying good-bye.

Ville hung up and shook a no at Mige before explaining someone else answered.
“Maybe it was her, but she was using an assumed identity OR she used someone else’s number,” Mige theorized.
“OR it was the wrong number, maybe you wrote it down wrong,” Ville said tired and a bit disappointed. He had hoped she would have answered. He had thought about her but was starting to put her out of his head as the time passed because what else could he do, although he did mentally chide himself for not asking in the beginning if there was contact information. It was simple and he had overlooked it, but she hadn’t called anyways.

“OR,” Mige began to say when Ville’s phone rang.
It was that number calling him. “Shhhh!” Ville whispered as he answered. Mige looked at him at once understanding.

“Hello,” Ville asked half full of hope.
“You called for Emile?” the voice from earlier asked.
“Yes,” Ville answered.
“This is her phone but she’s passed out after a good night of fun,” the woman said.
“Oh,” Ville said unsure of what to say.
“Can I take a message?” the woman asked sounding more awake than she had initially.
Ville looked at Mige and whispered “message”. What should he say? To call him or he hoped she was okay.
“Hello?” the woman asked.
“Still here,” Ville said in thought, “can you just tell her Ville called and I –“
“VILLE?” the woman asked in a loud whisper startling him.
“Yes,” Ville responded.
“Ah sorry, I wanted to make sure I had the correct name,” the woman said seemingly try to regain her calm. “Go on.”
“I just hoped she was doing well recovering and was able to leave Finland okay or whatever she is she decided.”
“We’re just in France at her grandfathers,” the woman said casually, “would you like me to have her call you back or were you merely interested in passing on this message?”
“She can call if she’d like,” Ville said holding back a laugh. This woman, he assumed was a friend of Em’s and she sounded hilariously direct.
“Oh look, sleeping beauty is awaking,” the woman said putting him on hold as he listened to the woman address Emile.

“You have a gentleman caller, Madame.”
“Ugh, Lis leave me alone. It’s Sunday, I can sleep in.”
“A gentleman caller.”
“A what?”
“A gentleman-“
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s him, he called!”
“Who?”
“Well pardon me, you can’t keep track of your love affairs. The one from Finland.”
“Love affairs?” A hearty laugh. “There are no love affairs- did you say Finland?”
“Yes, he called!”
“Did he leave a number? Should I call back?”
“He’s still on the phone,”
“What do you mean he’s still on the phone?”
“Don’t worry I muted it.”
“He probably hung up by now Lis, hurry let me see. What did he say? What did you say.”
Rustling.
“Oh shit, I didn’t mute it. I think he heard everything.”
Silence.

“Hello?” Ville asked. By this point he had put it on speaker as him and Mige got a good laugh.
Silence.

“Hello?” came her familiar voice.
“Hi,” Ville said and didn’t realize he had a grin on his face.
“This is Ville?” she asked.
“This is Emile?” he asked as she laughed.
“This is,” she answered.
“This is your gentleman caller,” he said laughing out loud this time. He heard her groan and smack someone as in the background the other person yelled “ow.”
“Can you call me back in a half hour, just so I can get some coffee in my veins?” she asked.
“Sure, but I hope you don’t disappear again,” Ville agreed.
“Not unless one of my other callers calls,” she joked sounding more at ease.
As he hung up the phone, Mige stared at him.

“What’s on your mind Mige?” Ville asked.
“How do you feel about France?” Mige answered the question with a question.